Moments of Legend
by arcticGlaciologist
Summary: An eternally ongoing series of oneshots about the champions of the League. Rated T for minor suggestive themes and violence.
1. Sun and Moon

_One._

The Radiant Dawn marched forwards, shield out and tilted towards the sun. A blade, glinting in the light, crashes down-

 _Two._

She twists her arm, turning the shield and sending the sword skittering. Her opponent grimaces, yanking her weapon back.

 _Three._

The Dawn closes the short distance between them, bringing her shield about and slamming her opponent in the chest. A short gasp of air escapes their lungs.

 _Four._

She reverses her grip on her own sword, angling her shield to push her enemy aside-

 _Victory._

The hilt of the Dawn's sword slams into her opponent's stomach, knocking them to the ground like a ragdoll. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw cold, white light.

 _Defend._

A beam of curving moonlight wrapped around, the flash blurring the Dawn's sight.

The Scorn of the Moon was here.

Leona, the Radiant Dawn, turned on her heel and slammed her shield to the side, blocking a wickedly curved blade as it came around. Where but a moment before, there was air- Diana was in its place.

The earth erupted around them, air _yanking_ inwards, inexorably. Leona barely held her stance, calling upon the Sun to steady her.

That wickedly curved sickle spun again, coming to Leona's unprotected side. Her sword came up, just in time-

And was pulled from her hand.

Leona grimaced.

Diana smirked, opening her mouth-

And spat out blood, eyes wide in shock, falling to the ground soundlessly.

Frost covered her back, centered on an arrow of ice. Leona looked to her companion with mixed humor.

Cold yet friendly eyes looked back. "I couldn't stand to hear another one of her jokes."

* * *

Leona groaned in relief, peeling off her armor with a practiced, tired ease. The League, that endless, bloodless bloodbath- it wore down her body to an incredible degree.

She hung up her sword, set aside her shield, and scanned her messy residence for a robe. The baths called to her.

* * *

Through the burgeoning steam, Leona saw white hair- silvery, shimmering, moonlit hair. She smiled.

"Diana!" she called, voice soft but words eager.

Water, lapping against the stone. Diana's hair shifted and sparkled dully. "Leona. How are you faring?"

Leona sighed, pacing across the stone. "I am alright," she said tiredly, feet sinking into the hot waters.

Diana snorted. "Could be better, could be worse. A pattern I, too, have felt."

Finally acclimating herself, Leona eased her aching body in, groaning. The water lapped at her skin, releasing the tension in her knotted muscles. "This is the best part of the day, I think."

"Seconded... but not only for the baths," Diana replied, sliding along the submerged bench to get closer to Leona. Her face, pale, cold, and beautiful- like the Moon itself- emerged from the steam.

Silver eyes locked onto molten gold.

Leona smiled. "Ashe got to you before you could tell your joke."

And Diana smiled back, warmth breaking through her hard features.


	2. Kindred Shores

Gangplank was dead, proclaimed Bilgewater; his reign burned with his ship.

But nobody had told Gangplank that.

He was old, older than any pirate of such infamy had a right to be- some whispered of a reckoning, others of a deal with the Devil. Gangplank paid little regard, focused wholly on some bitter revenge. He did, however, let out a bitter laugh at the most prominent rumor- a deal with Death itself.

They were so close, yet so far.

* * *

The old pirate trudged out of the roaring ocean, cutlass in hand- his other arm lay useless at his side. A lesser man would have died on the ship as it burned. Greater men would have died to the vicious tides or the chilling depths. Even greater men would have died on that shore, their will broken.

Gangplank, however, was far beyond even the most seasoned pirates. He refused to die.

But on that shore, watching the grey waves lap on their delicate hooves, was a creature of blinding white and a simple wooden mask. In the shadows behind it lurked something far more primal, a beast with an eternal hunger.

They were no mystery to him. He'd seen them a thousand times for just as many reasons. "Kindred. We have to stop meeting like this."

The Lamb's head tilted. "Impossible. We will always be on the hunt."

The Wolf howled. "And so much fresh prey tonight! I'd rather we always meet this way."

Gangplank, King of Pirates, laughed. His voice was raspy, worn with age; yet it still held the will and vitality of a younger man. "If you see Sarah Fortune, give her my regards- I'm sure she'd love to run."

He could almost hear the grin in Wolf's voice. "And it shall be a glorious hunt!"

"May we meet again on brighter shores, Kindred. I have a debt to claim," Hoisting his cutlass over his shoulder, he marched away.

* * *

Gangplank smiled, sharpening his cutlass.

No, Death had a deal with _him._

* * *

 ** _Author's Note:_** _Thank you for reading these short works of fiction! I know they're not the best out there, but that's why I write them- to improve. Please, leave a review telling me what you think!_


	3. Sands of Eternity

Light lanced through a wooded horizon, rending the sky in bleeding hues of blinding light. Stars, ever-shimmering marks upon the night, faded into the blues of dawn.

Sunlight stretched across the darkened landscape, giving it color and life.

A lonely angel watched, the fire in her eyes long turned to cinders. Broad white wings fluttered restlessly, like a worn traveller's cloak. For thousands of years, she had meted out justice in an eternal war, even following her traitorous sister to the League.

Thousands of years was not so long when everybody around you also lived forever. In this world of mortal beings, not a day passed without death. That alone would wear on even the hardiest of minds, but to weather it utterly alone could drive anyone mad.

Kayle, basking in the dawn, felt alone.

Utterly, completely alone.

Days would come and go, but the Judicator would not budge unless the League called her. The handful of summoners that used her regularly had noticed this new silence, one even expressing concern- Kayle had ignored it all.

Heavy feet lumbered behind her. "Who goes, and what is your business?"

She knew that deep, echoing voice. "I am Nasus. I wish to speak with you."

"Then speak, Curator." Kayle replied curtly.

More heavy footsteps. The Curator stepped up beside her, his wizened eyes reflecting the rising sun. "For seven dawns, you have stood unmoving. I am growing concerned for your health, Kayle."

"It is not _your_ concern." Kayle gave Nasus a sharp look.

Those old, tired eyes glinted. "It is not," he agreed, "But that does not change your condition."

"What do you _want_? Curator, I have no time for-"

"No time for _what_? You have done naught but sulk for a week," he chuckled bitterly, his tone shifting. "I want you to know, Kayle," He put a heavy paw on her shoulder, gripping it lightly, "That you are _not_ alone." He looked into her eyes, and she into his.

Kayle saw, for a heartbeat, the Shuriman who had lived thousands of years ago, saw him wandering the sands. She saw someone who had seen civilizations rise and fall at his feet.

Nasus saw the young angel, swearing to uphold justice to her last breath, saw the woman betrayed by those she held closest.

"...Perhaps not," she said, voice wavering for an instant, "Nasus."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** For some reason I named this oneshot 'turbulence'. I'm really curious why I did that. _

_...Anyways, please- leave a review telling me what you think!_


	4. Warm Heart, Blind Eyes

Light flooded the castle, bouncing in jagged beams from crystal to crystal. It pooled over a frozen bed, crept across thin sheets, and danced on The Ice Witch's sightless eyes.

The few that dared enter her residence called it a beautiful sight- something Lissandra would never know. It festered spite in her heart; an envy she would never admit. But, she would often remind herself, she wielded powers few could even dream of.

Those powers gave her vision through ice. Her world was a ghost image- a world of edges and darkness. It had never stopped her, though. The Watchers would return, and she would rule with them.

For now, though, she would tolerate the League. It gave her valuable experience, and the Summoners didn't seem terribly concerned with what they gleaned of her plans.

* * *

Lissandra felt the summoner's grip lessen, her body sliding through the web of spells like melting ice. When her senses returned to her, she was back in her fortress.

Her thoughts slithered through the floors, extending and exploring the entirety of her demesne in moments. Through her 'sight', she saw nothing.

And yet, as her mind contracted, they caught briefly on something- not made of edges and darkness, nor of ice. It was a gap in her otherwise omnipotent vision.

She was not alone.

The Ice Witch let out a sigh, massaging the bridge of her nose. She knew who it was.

 _Thump. Thump._

"That insufferable..." she muttered, gliding through the halls. Her voice followed, echoing in the emptiness.

Coming closer to the gate, she clicked her tongue. Her true sight might be gone, but her hearing was impeccable- merely by judging the volume of her echoes, she could determine the shapes and distances of objects around her. She 'saw' precisely what she expected- that damnably insistent mountain man.

"Braum is here! Have gift for you!"

She sighed. She could never keep Braum out, and company was on occasion enjoyable. Her only concern was that this man- larger than any mortal had a right to be- was also the strongest being in the League. Another hurdle to jump over when the Watchers returned.

"Very well. Come in; I'd rather you not destroy my door again." She extended a tendril of willpower, commanding the ice gate to swing open.

Braum ducked as he stepped in, joy apparent in his voice. "Ah, if only Mother had known cure for blindness. Your castle sparkles like diamond!"

A wheel of what was probably goat's cheese was shoved into her slender hands. "You do not have to bring gifts, Braum. I have no need for them."

He laughed heartily, shattering the quiet cold of her home. "Bah! Braum's goats have best milk in world! You may not need gifts, but is polite thing to do. Besides, will make you grow big and strong, like Braum!"

A ghost image flashed in her mind- of her towering over her enemies, muscles rippling on her frame. Her lips twitched. "Quite the image. I am certainly done growing, though. Please, take a seat, while I put this away."

* * *

Braum stayed for only a short while, claiming a need to tend to his goats. In that time, though, he spoke in great detail of how to care for his herd. Such things were beneath Lissandra, but she found herself intrigued anyways.

Absently, she went to her cupboard- she did not need much food, nor care for such luxuries. Taking out Braum's cheese, she cut a slice- it had a hard rind and a somewhat soft core.

Tenatively, she slid a chunk of it into her cold mouth, rolling it on her tongue. Her eyes widened, and a faint smile graced her lips. "Thank you." She said, her whispery voice echoing through the empty halls.


End file.
